


talk to me into the night again

by arekiras



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dialogue Heavy, Jupeter Week, Jupeter Week 2019, M/M, Other, Post-Season 2, Reconciliation, Reunions, as of now before s3 drops lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 07:22:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19825294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arekiras/pseuds/arekiras
Summary: '“Maybe we could talk, if you ever have a minute,” he says, his voice sounding awkward and stiff to his own ears. Then, he takes very measured steps back to his own bedroom. And if it’s a conscious effort on his part to not run, then no one has to know it but him.'Juno and Peter have a lot to talk about, once Mars is finally behind them.Written for the day one prompt for Jupeter Week 2019: reunion





	talk to me into the night again

The ship that Juno will be living in for the foreseeable future is not especially spacious. A galley and living area sit above the cargo bay, and lining a hallway are several small bedrooms, equipped with a bed, a closet, and a small half-bathroom stall crammed into the corner. The showers are communal, but the water pressure is decent, Buddy assured them as she gestured around at the amenities. One of the storage rooms had been converted into a medbay. Above all of this is the bridge, with an array of buttons and knobs and toggles that Juno is acutely wary of. He keeps his hands deep in his pockets for this portion of the tour. Below everything is an engine room, that they are not allowed into but shown the door all the same. 

The ship is not spacious, and two people on it are avoiding him. Rita had been giving him the cold shoulder ever since he didn’t tell her what  _ exactly  _ Agent Rex Glass was doing sitting in the cargo bay of a spaceship full of criminals, and why  _ exactly  _ she was the only one who seemed surprised by this. Which, well. Juno was surprised, but not for the same reasons Rita was. But it wasn’t really the place or time to tell her,  _ “Actually, Rita, Rex Glass is only one in a long list of aliases this man has used in his extensive career as an intergalactic master thief. I have known this since almost the beginning, but didn’t tell you. Also, he may be directly related to the first time I lost my eye. Further, I am in love with him but have almost certainly damaged any chances of a relationship we may have beyond repair.”  _

He settled with a very tactful, “Not right now, Rita, please.” She took this with some indignation, which is fair, but does mean that his only ally on this ship is now unavailable. After his initial greeting, Nureyev dematerialized, somehow managing to be wherever Juno wasn’t for the entirety of the first day until that evening. This may have been made slightly easier by the fact that after the tour, Juno retired to his room to slurp anxiously from his precious reserve of moonshine and fight down a panic attack for several hours. 

That first dinner was tense, even though Rita talked through the entire meal. She made it abundantly clear that she was  _ not  _ talking to Juno. Nureyev-  _ Adrian King _ , Juno reminds himself firmly- was also quiet, but maybe that’s just a part of his persona. Juno can’t tell, and also can’t read much from Buddy, Vespa, or Jet. 

However, when Juno volunteers to do the dishes after their meal, Nureyev makes himself comfortable with what appears to be a novel on the tablet at the table in front of him, and seems content to not move. And also to not acknowledge Juno’s presence at all as he familiarizes himself with the kitchen. 

Even sharing his space silently, with both of them occupied, is torturous. Juno washes, dries, and puts away the dishes and makes a point to learn the placement of everything in the cabinets and cupboards, but the entire time he is also acutely aware of Nureyev’s close proximity. 

He hasn’t changed his cologne, and it threatens to suffocate Juno. 

Once he finishes, Juno stays in the kitchen, staring out the thick porthole window at the black expanse of space. He sees stars, and a few planets in the distance. Nureyev shifts in his seat, getting comfortable. Juno wonders, briefly, if it would be less painful to cast himself out of the ship and into that black nothing, but then shoves that line of thinking away entirely. 

In the months since… everything, Juno has firmly clung to his resolve to improve. Sometimes improvement only looks like refusing to wryly consider his own demise as preferable to emotional discomfort, but it's an improvement nonetheless. 

Juno tears his gaze away from the porthole and turns to leave, heart pounding against his ribs furiously. He stops in the doorway, but doesn’t turn. “Maybe we could talk, if you ever have a minute,” he says, his voice sounding awkward and stiff to his own ears. Then, he takes very measured steps back to his own bedroom. And if it’s a conscious effort on his part to not run, then no one has to know it but him. 

He pauses outside of Rita’s door and hears one of her streams running, but doesn’t go in. He doesn’t know what to say to her, anyway. Instead, he sets about putting his own bedroom to rights, dressing his bed with his own comfortable blanket he brought from Mars instead of the thin, scratchy one that came with the room. Inevitably, his clothes will end up tossed in all corners of the room, but to start with, he organizes them in the small closet and dresser provided. 

After a moment of thought, he uses some tape and sticks up a single photograph to the wall above his bed. One of the last pictures taken of him and Benzaiten, after Juno’s induction into the HCPD. They’re both smiling, Juno looking stuffy in his blue dress uniform, Benten looking breezy in a pale yellow shirt. Sarah had been the one to take the photo, and Juno remembers that she was smiling too. It looks a little silly, small and wrinkled on the wall, but this is the best way Juno can think of to share some of his escape with his brother. 

Juno is sitting on the edge of his bed, contemplating where he might best find some sticky putty for the few paintings he was able to bring with him, when there’s a gentle knock on the door. 

“Come in,” he calls, voice a little rough. 

The door opens wide enough for Nureyev to peer in, and then he steps through fully, looking as stiff and uncomfortable as Juno has ever seen him. Even staring down possible death, he had such a cool energy about him, unruffled and unconcerned. Now, standing in Juno’s doorway, his face is pinched and his hands are fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. At Juno’s glance, they still immediately, going to rest firmly at his sides. 

After a moment of silence, Juno scoots over on his bed and pats the space next to him invitingly. There’s no other seating in the room, but Nureyev doesn’t seem particularly disturbed by the suggestion, settling quietly next to Juno. Juno doesn’t think that either of them are ready for him to begin speaking, yet, but is also at a loss of what to do, and so instead just sits.

Nureyev eventually begins to rummage through the small collection of paintings Juno brought with him, lifting them out of Juno’s bag and examining them with quick, keen eyes. If things were different, Juno might have laughed. Nureyev is a thief, before everything, always hunting out potential valuables. In a time of intense discomfort, his answer is to  _ snoop _ . 

After a thorough search through the small collection, Nureyev meets Juno’s eye for the first time. “These are  _ atrocious _ , Juno,” he says, one side of his mouth pulling up in what may either be a smile or a sneer. 

Juno shrugs. “I like bad art. I like wondering if it’s good to someone, or if it’s bad on purpose. Also, bad art is usually cheaper than good art.” 

The other side of Nureyev’s mouth pulls up, and it’s definitely a smile. It vanishes quickly, however, as Nureyev grows restless again. He looks for something else to grab his attention, and his eyes land on the picture of Juno and Benzaiten. He blinks. “Your brother,” he murmurs. “You were twins. I didn’t know that.” 

Juno squints at him. “I thought you looked into me,” he says doubtfully. 

“Not that deeply,” Nureyev replies. 

Juno huffs out a breath to fight down a wave of unwelcome emotion. Thinking about Benten is still hard in many ways, and he doesn’t need any added difficult emotions roiling inside of his chest. “I would really rather not talk about Benzaiten right now, if that’s alright,” he says meekly. 

Nureyev looks at Juno again, eyes stuck on his face, while Juno stares instead at one of his ugly paintings. It depicts a woman, but it’s like a child did it, and not in a way that adds character or charm. The warbled shapes and blobs of color make her look slightly nightmarish, or in one of the middle stages of decomposition. 

“What do you want to talk about then, Juno?” Nureyev asks softly. 

Juno replies to the painting, though he can feel Nureyev watching him still. “I don’t really know. Or, I do know. I just don’t know where to start. Can you… give me a minute?” He steals a glance out of the corner of his eye, and catches Nureyev’s careful nod. “I feel like I need to explain, but I also feel like whatever I have to say doesn’t really matter. Like, I want to apologize, but being sorry doesn’t change that I hurt you, on purpose, and that it wasn’t fair. And I want to tell you  _ everything _ that lead me to make the decision that I did, and everything apart from that. And that I have spent a lot of time thinking it over, and thinking about if there was any way I could have run away with you instead of from you. But I guess even if I told you all of that, it might be meaningless? 

“I don’t know if knowing would be better for you or worse, or if you could forgive me or not. And forgiveness isn’t really the point anymore. So, saying all of that, what I  _ really  _ want to tell you is that I remember that thing you said to me, back with Engstrom and the train. You said that it isn’t kind to tell someone that their gift means nothing to you. You were right. You gave me a lot, a whole lot of yourself, and I treated it like it didn’t mean anything. But I, uh, I know it did. And I’m sorry that I betrayed your trust. And also, I never really told you, but I trusted you, too. And I still do. That’s… that’s it, I guess.” Juno clears his throat and ignores the insistent ache behind his eye, tears threatening to spill over. 

Nureyev is quiet for a long moment, still watching him. Juno continues to look at the morphed, terrible woman in the painting. He can almost count the brush strokes that gave form to her swollen, puckered mouth. 

When Nureyev speaks, Juno almost jumps. “I was angry for a long time, because being angry was much easier than being hurt. And you did hurt me, Juno, very deeply. I have also thought about it a lot over these past years, however. After the anger and the hurt faded, I was able to see it more clearly, and I realize that the mistakes weren’t all yours. We were both in an extremely vulnerable place, that night. Neither of us were capable of reasoning or clear thinking, not really. When I asked you to come away with me, I know now that it must have sounded like an ultimatum, and that both telling me no and actually following through with it would have felt equally impossible. 

“I wish we could have talked about it, but I don’t know what would have come of that. I couldn’t stay, you couldn’t go. Truly, we barely knew each other. I’m not saying what you did was right, but what I did wasn’t right either. I forgave you a while ago, Juno. But I am also not entirely sure how to move forward from there. I want… to be honest, I want a lot of things, but most of them are entirely unreasonable to ask for right from the beginning; I am clear headed enough to know that now.” 

Juno nods, finally looking up at Nureyev. He’s grown out his hair since last they saw each other, it’s just long enough for the small knot he has it in at the back of his head, though a few black strands slip free and tickle his cheeks. “Would it be too much to ask for us to start over? As, I don’t know, friends? Or something?” Juno asks sheepishly. 

“I think that’s very reasonable,” Nureyev smiles then, and Juno would almost call the expression shy. “As your  _ friend _ , can I hold your hand?” 

Juno’s face breaks into a small grin before he can stop it, a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling up from his chest. He twines his fingers with Nureyev’s own, daring to lean his head against his shoulder. Nureyev allows it and they sit like that for a bit. 

“Not to ruin the moment, but I have heard some very alarming things from Siquliak and the news. What the hell happened on Mars?” Nureyev asks after a moment. 

Juno laughs again. “That’s a long story.” 

Nureyev chuckles back warmly. “We have time.” 


End file.
